Professor El-Melloi / The Fox Secretary, Ke Yang

"You think you can fool me with this?" Lord El-Melloi II asked, looking at the red-masked man with some surprise.

"Please enjoy!" Shirou said softly and confidently. Based on his understanding of Lord El-Melloi II from his memories, he was confident that even if he made a children's meal, he could make him very happy.

Lord El-Melloi II took a bite with some skepticism, but surprisingly found it to his liking; the salt and spices were just right for him.

Lord El-Melloi II found that once he put the food in his mouth, he couldn't stop eating. He ate heartily, enjoying it immensely. It was like the familiar taste of his mother's cooking, so easy to eat and never getting tired of it.

After finishing all the food on his plate, he couldn't help but let out a long sigh, picked up a towel to wipe his mouth, and looked at Shirou, saying, "You're very sensitive to customers' food preferences, aren't you? Or do you really know us people well?" Lord El-Melloi II said, resting his chin on his hand, as if he had developed some interest in Shirou.

"Even if they are counterparts from another world, their memories are still connected. This is truly a special case. If I were to return to the Clock Tower, I might be able to write a paper about it."

Chapter 440 Teacher El-Melloi

Shirou didn't pay much attention to Lord El-Melloi II's investigation, after all, he knew that this was the only way for the weakest Lord in the Clock Tower, a place of fame and fortune for Magecraft, to survive.

If it weren't for the keen observation he gained through constantly expanding his knowledge and using his intelligence, Lord El-Melloi II would likely have died long ago in some conspiracy or political struggle between the three factions of the Clock Tower.

"Teacher, you'd better not remove my mask." Shirou calmly picked up the brewing coffee pot and poured his teacher a cup of after-dinner drink. If he weren't wearing that mask, Shirou would look as elegant as a butler in a British aristocratic household.

"Oh my, is this the attitude of the one making the request?" Lord El-Melloi II asked.

"Well, I'm just an ordinary chef, there's really nothing worth exposing." Shirou continued, "But you, teacher, although you're called the Clock Tower Star Lecturer, the Star of Great Clock, I've never seen you date any girls. No wonder people are wondering about your sexual orientation, and as a result, several male students in the academy have started flirting with you."

In the ranking of the tutors students most want to sleep with, she firmly holds the No. 1 spot, leaving a gap of one digit between her and the second-place tutor. However, being sandwiched between male and female tutors makes it even more difficult for you to dodge and escape.

On holidays, you simply wear a Dominator T-shirt and become a lazy, shut-in gamer who does nothing but play games outside of work. All of this stems from your imitation of the king you respect.

The teacher strives to become the king's most prized subject, working tirelessly to write papers and gain the recognition of everyone in the Clock Tower, so as not to bury the king's reputation. To make the world the king loves even more wonderful, the teacher dedicates himself to nurturing every student who seeks his guidance.

Even though you and that king were separated by more than two thousand three hundred years, a distance so vast it's immeasurable, your loyalty and affection remained undiminished. And now, teacher, you've finally met that king! This is truly a moving story. I really wish that king could know about all the efforts you've made in the past."

Shirou gazed wistfully at the light streaming in from the ceiling, where a camera was positioned, capable of capturing him and Lord El-Melloi II and transmitting the image to the entire world, and... to Iskandar, King of Conquerors.

"Stop! Wait a minute!" Lord El-Melloi II slammed his hand on the table, his face flushed, and stood up, shouting.

Shirou continued, "What's worse is that your ability to take care of yourself is absolutely terrible. If you were alone, you probably couldn't even guarantee three meals a day, and you'd probably just be eating bread to survive. If this continues, even if you're summoned by a spirit, your body is still your body, and it won't be able to take it sooner or later."

"Enough! I don't have time for your dubious sermons! I have absolutely no interest in the face beneath your mask, so get out of here, get out of here." Lord El-Melloi II sipped his coffee and waved his hand impatiently.

"Huh? Is that all?" Shirou asked, somewhat surprised.

"You're really being long-winded!" Lord El-Melloi II said rudely. "Go up. Don't make me waste any more time. If you're approved, just go up. Don't waste any more time."

"Yes, yes, thank you for your hard work, teacher." Shirou casually replied and nodded to the Elder Nakiri was waiting there.

"Kid, let's go then," said Nakiri Senzaemon.

"Yes, sir." Shirou nodded.

"Ah, I also consulted many good friends and gave them some special training. Next time, I'll make a pot of tiger penis soup, and I'll have Erina bring it to you. I also want to hold my great-grandson."

"Hahaha." Shirou chuckled dryly, wanting to refuse but finding it hard to say so, and in the end, he couldn't refuse.

The two walked up the steps together.

They don't need to worry about their kitchenware either. The preparation for this competition took three months, and everything is provided. The necessary tools will be taken care of by someone to help them to the next competition venue.

Of the four chefs, Pablo was the slowest to prepare the dishes. This time, he took a meticulous approach, handling everything in an orderly manner. He would not cut a second short of what could be done in three minutes, and he placed the dishes on the serving carts and delivered them to Lord El-Melloi II's seat right at the last minute.

Dry ice was poured into a silver kettle and then poured over the food on the table. Instantly, the entire tabletop was transformed into a fairyland, shrouded in pure white smoke. Various brightly colored fruit slices and pastry platters appeared and disappeared in the mist, while the shells of the French grilled oysters looked like clam shells containing millennia-old pearls emerging from the sea.

The black truffle caviar sandwich, with truffles and grilled salmon slices sandwiched in bread and topped with a spoonful of black caviar, resembles a neatly arranged fleet of ships. Only the black volcano made of chocolate stands firmly on the other side.

"Then please enjoy my magnificent meal, the dessert volcano of Fairyland France, Mr. El-Melloi," Pablo said with a bow and a smile.

Lord El-Melloi II did not touch his spoon. His eyes were not on the food on the silver plate, but rather on the famous French chef. His pupils seemed to discern the chef's thoughts as he slowly asked:

"She seems to be trying to appear confident and assertive, but actually she's the most anxious of the four. Her pupils are narrowed, as if she's thinking about something. Her arms are clasped together, her fingers unconsciously clenching, her legs are straight, and her muscles are involuntarily tense. She's really deep in thought. Could it be that you have some other ulterior motive?"

"What?! I don't know what you're talking about! Please enjoy, there's absolutely nothing wrong with my cooking." The famous French chef was secretly sweating, but he quickly composed himself, spreading his hands and smiling as he spoke.

"Oh, you seem quite confident in your culinary skills," Lord El-Melloi II said, looking at the other man.

Pablo laughed and agreed, "Haha, as the chef representing Europe this time, of course I have to be confident enough in my skills!"

"Is that so? That's even stranger. We're supposed to be waiting for my review, yet you're so nervous. It seems like you have something else on your mind that's more important. Hmm, where is it?" Lord El-Melloi II asked unhurriedly.

Pablo countered, "Your London accent is impeccable; you're definitely British. Shouldn't a judge set aside their biases and remain impartial? Are you prejudiced against me, a Frenchman? It's not good to suspect others without reason. I can accept a food safety inspection, but if no problems are found, you must give me an explanation and compensate me for the damage to my reputation!"

He wasn't afraid at all, because he had nothing on him at that moment. In the public's perception, he was portrayed as an inspirational figure who rose from humble beginnings through hard work and culinary skills, and that was indeed the case.

Although he discovered a more efficient method halfway through and chose to take a shortcut, his culinary talent was already very high, at least the highest in Europe. Those young people either chose to submit or were suppressed out of the European culinary world.

If he hadn't witnessed these unexpected monsters at this conference, he would have thought he would eventually become the world's number one.

'A legendary figure from China, I thought he was too old to work anymore, but he's still so energetic. What's with those glowing dishes? Did they add edible fluorescent powder? It's daytime here!'

'That masked bastard looks young, but his skills are astonishingly proficient, and he possesses the qualities of a top-tier chef. (Monthly subscription group 694936135) How is that possible!? I haven't even reached that level yet.'

'That Nakiri, despite his age, has mastered many solid fundamentals and has actually developed his unique cuisine to its fullest potential.'

If this were in Europe, Pablo would only want to do one thing with people like that: destroy them. Threaten them, poison them, shoot them, bomb them, kidnap their families—use any means necessary to get rid of them from the culinary world. Only in this way can he secure his throne as the underground Emperor.

Lord El-Melloi II, his fingers interlaced and elbows propped on the table, continued to scrutinize the famous French chef with his deep eyes, and said, "Very well, as a retainer, I cannot spoil the enjoyment of those above. However, I will not eat this dish, but I will grant you your qualification."

"Hmph, why didn't you do this earlier? Why be so stubborn? I'm a world-renowned chef, and I cook everything according to international standards. There's absolutely no way there could be any problems!" Pablo sneered, speaking without any politeness.

"Well, you'd better watch yourself." Lord El-Melloi II cut open his cigar, lit it with a match, took a puff, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, and said nonchalantly.

"Hmph!" Pablo turned and followed the three who had already climbed the steps.

He cursed inwardly, "Damn it! What's going on with this conference?! What kind of school is this? A detective academy? I haven't done anything yet! Has that woman Koyanskaya even shown up?! And the fees are so high! And the efficiency is so poor! I'll make her kneel at my feet someday!"

When he arrived at the third level, he found that there was no one guarding it.

Instead, Cleopatra appeared as the host, relaying a message to the judges of the third round.

"The judge was a gentle and considerate woman. Anticipating that the chefs would be exhausted after two intense culinary demonstrations, she stopped the competition and revised the rules. From now on, contestants will be given a one-hour rest period after each round they pass."

Cleopatra explained while inwardly agreeing with the plan. From a business perspective, it was somewhat negligent. Creating some gaps in the competition was something she hoped would be better; otherwise, there wouldn't even be enough time for a live broadcast, making even simple tasks like chopping vegetables look like acrobatics, without any time for commercial breaks.

But who were these judges? Conqueror King who led an army to the ends of the earth without a map, Caesar a military madman, an immortal fairy, and even the adopted daughter of King Enma, the King of Hell. For them, rest really meant nothing.

"No rest? Do you want us to play five matches in a row in one day? How Sparta are the judges?" Shirou complained with dead fish eyes.

"Hey~ Chu!!! Is it because I'm not used to the new environment? Do I have a cold?" The red-haired girl in the kimono at the highest point touched her small nose and said in confusion.

"Hahaha, masked boy, you can't hold on any longer?" Elder Liu raised his arm, his biceps and triceps bulging, and asked with a laugh.

"You can't do it like this! You need to train more!" The Elder Nakiri also gave a demonstration, tearing his clothes to reveal his strong muscles.

"Well, I don't really care what happens to me." Shirou glanced at the two muscular old men, feeling that he was the weakest one, and waved his hand helplessly.

"Don't rush, don't push, don't wish" is his current motto. In the words of ancient Chinese philosophy, it means that a virtuous person should be cautious when alone, maintain their original intention, and follow the natural course of things. Only in this way can one avoid being led by the nose in this chaotic world and live the life they truly want according to their heart.

For example, when you act in your daily life, alone, without any supervisors, without any punishment or criticism, and without anyone knowing, that is your most natural and comfortable way of life.

"Don't rush, don't force yourself, and don't fantasize," Shirou said calmly. If a person can do these three things, follow their own pace, and do what they can, they can probably maintain a peaceful state of mind and live a peaceful life.

Sometimes, a person doesn't even know what they want. What they think in their heart and what they say can be completely different. Because of momentary impulses, face-saving relationships, and emotional actions, they often cause regret or even remorse afterward.

Don't be swayed by external factors; proceed at your own pace.

Don't force yourself to do things you feel averse to;

If you don't indulge in unnecessary fantasies and have no expectations, then you naturally won't be disappointed.

Of course, to achieve this, one must also frequently engage in meditation and dialogue with one's inner self, reminding oneself of one's true needs and making necessary choices. This is a crucial prerequisite.

This is the essence of thought in the so-called Daoist and Buddhist schools of thought.

"Even if I keep competing, I won't be anxious about winning or losing. But if someone has excessive desires, their feelings will be completely different, right?" Shirou asked, glancing at the famous French chef beside him.

"Ugh..." Pablo's body trembled, revealing a gloomy expression, his clenched fists bulging with veins.

Chapter 441 Secretary Fox Koyan

Pablo, furious, gritted his teeth, making a grinding sound. If this were Europe, he would have chopped the guy who dared to provoke him into mincemeat and dumped him into the Seine to feed the fish.

Then Cleopatra's voice came. "So, contestants, please follow the staff's instructions, take the elevator back to the basement rest room to rest. We look forward to you returning to the competition refreshed and ready to create even more perfect dishes."

"Hmph!" Pablo ultimately held back, refraining from lashing out. He let out a cold snort and turned to walk towards the passageway where the staff were standing.

Shirou looked towards the two old men and shrugged.

Before the host could finish speaking, Pablo strode back to his dressing room, cursing inwardly, "Damn it! What kind of school is this? A detective academy? I haven't done anything yet! Has that woman Koyanskaya even arrived?!"

"Masked boy, I look forward to seeing how you perform later." The Elder Liu smiled and left first.

"To be chosen by this person, you truly have a bright future ahead of you," Nakiri Senzaemon said to Shirou with a somewhat complicated expression.

"Yes, yes, I will try my best," Shirou quickly agreed, not daring to let the old man continue.

After that, the two of them, guided by the staff, returned to their respective rest rooms.

Elder Nakiri returned to the lounge, the blonde woman immediately helped him sit down, then handed him a hot towel and served him tea and water.

After everything was done, Erina said, "Well then, Grandpa, you can rest now. I'll go out for a bit."

"I'm heartbroken. My granddaughter ran off with some kid who won't even show his face. Am I going to become the culprit behind the decline of the Totsuki Academy...?" Nakiri Senzaemon, feigning a look of great disappointment.

"Managing Totsuki is not an option! I can manage it all by myself! Grandpa, you know what Shirou is thinking, right? He just wants a peaceful life and has never interfered with what I want to do. If something really happens to the Nakiri family, he definitely won't stand idly by." Erina immediately objected, adopting a strong stance as she defended her beloved.

"If you want a peaceful life... then how long until my great-grandson is born?" the old man asked, changing the subject.

"Grandpa! I'm not talking to you anymore!" Erina shouted in embarrassment and ran out the door. Needless to say, her destination was Shirou's.

Nakiri Senzaemon watched Erina run outside, her face flushed, and sighed, "Girls really do grow up and leave home, but..."

The old man's gaze sharpened in the next moment, and he said, "Well, at least Shirou's cooking skills haven't declined; so far, they've been above average."

As the former head of a large family, although he had established a complex network of relationships with the Nakiri family's group, including farms, food companies, and graduates of the Totsuki Academy, these relationships were still built up over decades.

Many of the founders and veterans of the food and beverage industry are his friends. The head chefs of emerging restaurants are also his former students and acquaintances. In fact, he still has to handle many things.

Therefore, the elders also had to take responsibility for these people involved. As the successor of Totsuki, Nakiri Erina naturally took on these responsibilities along with inheriting the position of Totsuki Commander. She couldn't be like an ordinary woman, abandoning everything to pursue a free and unrestrained love. This was a mission she was obligated to shoulder since being born into this family.

When faced with a major event that could affect the livelihoods of tens of thousands or even millions of people, one person's personal feelings are simply insignificant.

Of course, if Shirou were willing to reveal his identity and show that he is on the side of the Nakiri Group, then if two of the top four chefs in Japan were from Japan, even if they were still some distance from the legendary chefs of China, it would be enough for the Nakiri Group to hold its head high in the culinary world of Japan and even the world.

More importantly, Shirou is still young enough. As long as God Tongue is by his side and keeps him from going astray, it's conceivable that the future of the culinary world will belong to him for the next few decades.

It was precisely because of this that the elders of the Nakiri Group and other related interest groups heeded his advice and temporarily tolerated Erina's relationship with Shirou.

If we push Shirou too hard, we risk alienating him to the opposing side, which would be counterproductive and result in a lose-lose situation where someone else reaps the benefits. However, this conference is the final deadline, and the elders will surely erupt again afterward. In any case, a result must be reached.

However, there is one truth that only Nakiri Senzaemon understands.

He was nearing his limit; competing against the world's top chefs had forced him to use every trick in the book.

The reason he can still stand on this stage is that he has the advantage of being on home turf, has used up all the resources and connections at his disposal, and has also had a bit of luck.

After all, he wasn't a monster like Elder Liu, who had all the advantages of timing, location, and people. If any one of these factors were missing, the person resting in this lounge and attending this conference would likely be someone from another country. His replacement might be a representative of Turkish cuisine, or another outstanding figure from China. In fact, there are quite a few people with comparable culinary skills to him; there are at least twenty or thirty worldwide.

In other words, if Shirou had revealed his identity beforehand, he would have been eliminated without a doubt, given that he was also a Japanese. The current situation is actually an unexpectedly good result.

However, Shirou is still wearing his mask and shows no intention of revealing his true identity. And Erina, when she gets stubborn, won't listen to advice. Unity brings mutual benefit, division brings ruin. The old man sighed, accepting that everything was beyond his control.

Meanwhile, Pablo stormed to his dressing room. As soon as he opened the door, the waiting female model rushed to greet him, leaning into Pablo arms and pointing inside, complaining, "Darling, you're back. This strange woman barged in without permission."

"Yes, yes! Guest, I've brought what you requested!" At this moment, the secretary Koyanskaya, had already quietly entered the lounge and was sitting on the table with her legs crossed. This time, to match the occasion, she had changed into a white outfit made from a modified chef's uniform, and was shaking a small glass bottle that looked like it contained pink powder.

"Get out of my way! Give it to me!" Pablo shoved the female model aside roughly, walked up to Secretary Fox, snatched the bottle, his eyes bloodshot, as if brewing some terrible plan in his mind.

"Yes, the goods have indeed been delivered." Koyanskaya narrowed her eyes, a smile curving her lips like a fox that had just eaten chicken.

"This... medicine! It really won't be discovered, will it?!" Pablo asked, examining the small pink bottle.

"Hmm, it's colorless and odorless, a secret seasoning that's absolutely undetectable by the five human senses. Even with current technology, it won't reveal any trace of its ingredients. Without a doubt, it's the highest grade of spice. Why don't you try it yourself, sir?" Koyanskaya chuckled, kindly offering her suggestion.

"Hmph! That's true, let's see! You! Come here!" Pablo said coldly, turning around and grabbing the female model's arm, pulling her over.

"Wait! Darling? Don't be so rough, okay? I can go and call someone else for you. Wait! What are you trying to do to me! No! Pablo!" The female model screamed, her face turning deathly pale, after her attempts to be charming failed.

Pablo grabbed the female model like a bear, pinching her chin with his other hand, and said in a deep voice, "Shut up! There's no time to dawdle, you'd better eat it obediently. This is a precious spice worth a hundred million euros a bottle, a luxury you could never have tasted in your entire life. You should be grateful to me, right?"

"Bastard! I'll do whatever you say, hit me or curse me! But this! Absolutely not! Let me go!" The female model looked terrified and pounded on Pablo's back.

She had heard rumors about Pablo, the underground Emperor of the restaurant industry. Apart from those international hotel chains, all private restaurants had to defer to him. It was said that he secretly controlled a large criminal gang, and his cuisine was so addictive that anyone who had eaten his food became his captive and puppet.

Whether it's celebrities, politicians, or wealthy businessmen, he has them all under his control and exploits them until they have no value left, which is more terrifying than any drug.

Why would she want to be with such a dangerous person? But Pablo was incredibly generous! Ultimately, she couldn't get her hands on a rich, powerful, virtuous, and morally upright man. All she could find were generous older men; that was the lifestyle she chose.

There's nothing she can do about it. She's not very bright, and her education level is low. If she wants to get ahead, all she can do is rely on her looks and figure. Her only strength is that she's more fun-loving, more outgoing, and better at pleasing men than others. As long as she can escape the curse of poverty, she's willing to endure anything.

Does she have to be like those unattractive women, marrying an ordinary, honest man, having children, and then toiling away to support her family? Working thirteen or fourteen hours a day, paying off the mortgage and car loan, with barely enough money left to make ends meet, afraid to get sick, afraid to travel, living in constant fear?